


Not in the romantic fashion

by BarPurple



Series: Layers of Love [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: The first words they were to say to each other were their wedding vows.





	1. Chapter 1

Belle was pacing nervously in the library. In a moment her father would come and take her to the ballroom where she was to marry a man she had only met for a handful of minutes. She fought the urge to fling her bouquet across the room. This was ridiculous! She didn’t even know her groom’s first name!

She had been raised to hold the Royal family in the highest esteem, but at this moment Belle was thinking some very uncharitable thoughts about Queen Snow White and Prince Charming. Thanks to them centuries of tradition had been swept away. Just because the Queen and her prince had found love at first sight when they stood at the alter there was no guarantee that any other couple would.

Now instead of and arranged meeting and an acquaintanceship followed by a courtship, a bride and groom would only meet at the altar, with no idea if they had shared interests, or were to each other’s liking at all. Common sense had been thrown away in the name of a romantic fantasy that was so improbable that it neared impossibility. Belle had been lucky that she had met her intended at all, although they had not been permitted to speak with each other, she at least knew what he looked like.

Her pacing had brought her to the window again. For a brief moment Belle wondered if she could climb out and run away. She snorted to herself and turned away from the temptation of freedom. She could escape but the freedom she dreamed of was as illusionary as the ideal of love at first sight. She was the only daughter of the French family. She had responsibilities and she would not shirk them.

A tap at the door signalled the arrival of her father. Belle just had time to arrange her features into a neutral mask before he stepped into the room.

“My darling daughter, how lovely you look. It’s time.”

Belle gave the window one last glance and took her father’s arm.

In the ballroom Mr Gold was attempting not to fidget with his cufflinks. This was insane! He was moments away from marrying a woman he had set eyes on precisely once. All he knew of Miss French was that she was beautiful. A quality he would look for if he was purchasing a painting, or tapestry, but Miss French’s fair looks were no indication of how well suited she would be as his wife. If looks were the only base to a good husband, then Miss French would have run a mile when she met him. Damn this ridiculous notion of blind marriages.

Once again Madden nudged him to stop him twisting his cufflink.

“Don’t worry old boy. On to more enjoyable things once the I dos are out of the way.”

Likely Madden was thinking of the reception, but Gold’s mind leapt to the wedding night. His stomach roiled at the thought of having to share such intimacies with a stranger. He ran a finger around his collar and looked for an escape. How on earth did people consider this to be romantic?

The wedding march began, and Madden patted his shoulder.

“Here she comes Rab.”

Mr Gold kept his eyes resolutely forward and muttered; “Yes, so I gathered.”

He could here Sir Maurice’s heavy tread across the floor. He imagined the man was smiling widely, as he should be considering that this marriage had kept him solvent. Money and position; the only two reasons marriages were made in high society as far as Gold could tell. Of course, there was the continuation of the family name as well, but he was refusing to allow thoughts of that kind any mental space. Considering the practical nature of a marriage contract Gold was at a loss as to why this notion of romance had so gripped society. His finances would be in as sorry a state as Sir Maurice’s if he applied such haste to his business dealings.

He became aware of Miss French’s presence at his side and realised that he was expected to turn and face her. His hands were shaking as he lifted the veil from his bride’s face. Gold could only hope that Miss French was not offended at the way the lace trembled. She was very beautiful, and certainly looked a damn sight calmer than he felt. He offered her his hand and together they turned to face the cleric.

Gold barely heard the cleric’s words of greeting, or the formal request for objections.

“Do you, Barbara Gold take Isabelle French as your lawfully wedded wife?”

Gold’s posture stiffened at the sound of his first name. As expected there were some muffled sniggers from the congregation. If it had been at all possible he would have insisted that the loathed name was not spoken at all, but under the circumstances he could not be referred to as Mr Gold. He found small relief that Miss French was kind enough not to join in with the muted mockery. He gave his reply in a clipped tone. The sniggering halted as at least some of those present recalled who held their gambling debts.

Almost before he knew it Miss French had made her reply and the cleric was announcing them as husband and wife. He was a married man.

She was married. Mrs Belle Gold. It truly did not feel real, even as she took congratulations from friends and family while holding Mr Gold’s arm. She was married to a man whose parents had named him Barbara. Belle hoped that Mr Gold had not detected her surprise, especially since some of their guests had seen fit to giggle.

Very suddenly Mr Gold was handing her into the coach and for the first time in her life Belle found herself alone with a man who was no blood relation. She giggled at the absurdity of the situation.

“Has something tickled you, Miss, erm pardon me, Mrs Gold?”

“It struck me as strange that a few words spoken before witnesses and suddenly it is acceptable for us to be alone together.”

Mr Gold smiled; “I had not thought of it in such a way, but I agree it is a strange convention.”

That they could jest together eased some of the tension that had gripped Belle since her marriage was announced three months ago. Mr Gold began twisting his cufflink, he appeared to be more nervous than she felt.

“I, erm, I, err that is your lady’s maid arrive this morning to arrange your rooms to your liking.

Belle frowned but felt another knot of tension begin to ease within her. Was it possible that Mr Gold had not embraced the other latest craze of romance that sprang from the Royal household? She was not sure how to delicately phrase the question she needed to ask, so she settled for saying; “My rooms?”

His hair covered his face and he addressed his next words to the cufflink that he was worrying between his fingers; “I hope you will forgive me for my old-fashioned approach.”

“Hardly old fashioned, only a year ago it would have been expected.”

He gave her a tight nod but had still not answered the question she had attempted to ask. Belle took a small breath and decided that a more direct approach was required.

“And will you be visiting my rooms this evening, Mr Gold?”

He snapped his head up and a fleeting look of terror dashed across his face.

“Well, I, erm, it is just that, I, oh damn it. I do not think a wedding night would be appropriated until we are better acquainted, Mrs Gold.”

The carriage halted before a well-appointed house painted in a charming shade of salmon. Feeling much more relaxed than she had in many weeks Belle smiled at her husband.

“I whole-heartedly agree with you Mr Gold. Perhaps we could begin improving our acquaintance while touring my new home?”

Mr Gold gave a smile that was part relief and part pure joy; “A very wise idea Mrs Gold.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bookwormchocaholic asked how the wedding night went ;)

Mr Gold handed her down from the carriage and Belle noted that the servants were not waiting outside to greet them. He must have observed her small frown of confusion for he said; “My butler, Cogsworth, can be rather verbose. Everyone will be more comfortable inside as he greets you.”

Belle smiled. When she was a child Belle’s Mother had taught her that a person’s character could be judged by how they treated their servants. Belle had always found Mother’s words to be true, and that her husband had not made a point of separating them from the servants in his use of ‘everyone’ gave Belle hope that he was a kind man to all in his employ. As with his desire to wait for an intimate wedding night, this was another detail in coming to know the character of her husband,

He kept her gloved hand in his as they made their way up the steps to the front door. Before they were halfway up, the door was opened by an unseen hand and Belle readied herself to step into her new home for the first time.

At the threshold Mr Gold paused and squeezed her hand gently; “Welcome home Mrs Gold.”

His soft words were almost lost amid a polite round of applause from the gathered staff, but Belle made sure he knew she had heard him by giving his hand a squeeze in return.

The butler cleared his throat with a fussy cough. He was a tall man with a paunch that strained his watchchain; a curled moustache and precisely parted hair gave the impression of a man who delighted in control of his surroundings. He stepped forward and bowed first to Mr Gold and then to Belle.

“Welcome home Mr Gold and Mrs Gold. I am Cogsworth, butler to this household. On behalf of myself and all the staff may I offer our heartfelt felicitations upon your recent nuptials.”

Gold spoke hurriedly; “Thank you Cogsworth. It has been a long day, if we could get on with the introductions?”

Cogsworth gave a measured nod; “Of course, sir. Mrs Gold?” he stepped from the line to stand one step behind and one step to the left of Belle, “May I introduce Mrs Potts the housekeeper and cook.”

Mrs Potts was a steal haired lady with a kind smiling face, that Belle suspected hid a core of steel. She bobbed a curtsy and welcomed Belle as Mrs Gold.

Cogsworth moved them on to a familiar face; “Miss Dunbroch needs no introduction, of course.”

Belle’s maid Merida gripped her hands warmly; “Congratulations Miss Belle.”

Cogsworth gave a reproving cough and Merida quickly corrected; “But it’s Mrs Gold now. Sorry ma’am.”

“It’s still very new to me as well Merida. We’ll get used to it together.”

There were others to greet, so Belle moved away on. Next, she met Mr Gold’s valet, Lumiere, a man whom shone with a light-hearted joy that was so natural on his face it had to be his habitual nature. After him came Ashley, the maid, who was the only one of the staff Belle didn’t take an immediate liking too. There was something shifty beneath the girl’s nervous face.

Cogsworth turned to her with another small bow.

“We are a small household Mrs Gold, but I assure you that we run a tight ship, I expect you shall find everything to your liking, but should a difficulty arise, please rest assured that we will correct the matter as soon as it is brought to my attention.”

For a second Belle thought that Cogsworth was about to continue, but Mr Gold stepped up to her side and said; “I shall give Mrs Gold a tour of the house now. If we could have dinner in the dining room at six, please Cogsworth.”

“Yes sir.”

The butler clapped his hands and the staff disappeared to their duties. Belle once again found herself alone with her husband. She blew out a small sigh that brought a smile to Mr Gold’s face.

“Cogsworth can be a little overwhelming, but he is a wonderful butler.”

Mr Gold stepped slightly closer to her and whispered; “When his thumb strokes his watchchain he’s wound down, best to stop him there before he gets going again.”

“I shall have to watch out for that.”

Mr Gold’s eyes were on her lips as she spoke. She felt his warm breath on her skin as he exhaled, and some unused instinct made her lean forward. Neither of them moved, Belle felt frozen in a moment of anticipation. Mr Gold slowly moved back, there was the faintest hint of a blush on his face. The air was heavy with an intimacy that Belle was unaccustomed to, she dropped her eyes to her hands, not yet ready to deal with this depth of feeling.

It was easier to focus on Mr Gold’s shoes. They were polished, but not to the high shine most gentleman favoured these days, they were plain and perfectly serviceable. It appeared her husband favoured comfort over fashion, something they had in common.

He gently said; “Let me show you the house Mrs Gold.”

 

Belle soon discovered that while Mr Gold may favour practical and unadorned footwear, his taste in decoration was far more artistic. The public rooms, where one would expect to receive guests, were lavishly appointed with fine furniture and expensive artwork. Belle was surprised at how showy everything was, although the colour schemes were perhaps more muted than the height of fashion demanded, everything else would be envied by all. While Mr Gold answered her questions about various pieces, she detected no passion in his voice. It was clear that much thought and work had gone into the arrangement of the receiving room and dinning room, but he airily told her that she should feel free to alter anything as she saw fit.

She found herself puzzled until they reached the more private rooms. These too were beautifully decorated, but here Mr Gold became more animated about the furniture and objects displayed. These antiques were important to him, he spoke of them with a glowing passion shining from his eyes. It occurred to her that he had designed the public rooms to meet expectations, but here in the parlour everything had been chosen because he found delight in it. He was willing to share that delight with her, and that made Belle very happy, and feel rather special, she suspected that few were privileged to see this side of Mr Gold.

He paused while explaining the history of a delicate tea set; “My apologies, I must be boring you. Antiques are a hobby of mine and I forget that not everyone shares that interest.”

How often had his enthusiasm been quashed by a seemingly polite yawn, or tiresome sigh?

“You are not boring me, please continue.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the teacup he had been using to explain the glazing technique. A small frown creased his brow and he shook his head; “I would rather that you expressed your own opinions. You need not bend to my whims.”

Belle boldly reached for his hand as he went to replace the teacup. It was the first time they had touched without the barrier of gloves between them. A sparkle of sensation jolted Belle as her hand brushed his. Mr Gold gasped, and the teacup tumbled from his hand and bounced on the hardwood floor.

“I am so sorry!”

“My apologies!”

Both bent down to retrieve the cup, causing a most undignified bumping of heads.

“Are you hurt Mrs Gold?”

“Are you alright Mr Gold?”

The smile they shared as they spoke in unison again reassured both that the other was unharmed. Mr Gold gestured to Belle to remain still as he knelt and picked up the fallen cup.

While still on his knees he held it up for her inspection; “It’s just a little chipped. If we can find the piece I can repair it,” he shrugged shyly and said with a wry smile, “I am afraid your husband’s hobby extends to the practical.”

She suspected the shyness in his confession sprang from the fact that many gentlemen considered working with their hands beneath them. Her father certainly would never deign to lift a tool, unless it was fishing rod or shotgun. Personally, Belle found her husband’s abilities, and he must be able to be confident in repairing the cup, to be charming.

“Such skills will be very useful, for I am afraid your wife can be very clumsy.”

He smiled at her, a genuine wide smile that brought dimples to his face that she had not seen before. The smile remained as he rose to his feet; “Will I have to lock away the more delicate items?”

He was teasing her, and Belle decided the best response was to tease him right back; “The rooms would look positively Spartan if you were to lock away everything that I may break. Perhaps it would be wiser to share your skill in repair with me.”

The smile faltered just a little; “Would that interest you? Truly?”

Belle threw caution to the wind and placed her hands around his, hoping to reassure him and protect the poor cup from further damage. There was no dramatic jolt this time, but the contact was pleasant.

“I love learning new things Mr Gold, either from books or from an enthusiastic teacher.”

As she hoped his smile had returned and his eyes had lit up when she mentioned books. He eased one hand from her light grasp and returned the chipped cup to the shelf.

“I believe it is time I showed you upstairs, Mrs Gold.”

 

When Mr Gold mentioned upstairs Belle had assumed he was to show her the bedrooms. She was torn between concern that her admitting her love for learning had offended him and that he wished her to be out of his sight or worrying that he had changed his mind about waiting for a wedding night. She chided herself for letting her thoughts run away with her in such a manner. Mr Gold had displayed no annoyance at her, nor had he given her any reason to doubt that he was a man of his word.

At a large set of doors, he took a breath; “I think you are going to like this room.”

He bid her open the doors. There was an excitement in his stance that Belle found puzzling. The size of the doors and the positioning of the handles suggested that this was a ballroom, now why would he be so excited about showing her what to all intents and purposes would be a large empty room? Nothing in their conversation had alluded to dancing, what a curious man her husband was.

Belle grasped the handles and slid the doors open as wide as she could.

“Oh my.”

This was no ballroom. Mr Gold stepped up behind her and pushed the doors further open than the reach of her arms could manage.

“I’m not much for dancing, or hosting large parties, so this seamed a better use for the space.”

Belle could not find the words to agree with him. The walls were filled floor to ceiling with shelf upon shelf of books. She stepped inside and twirled around as she tried to take in the sheer splendour at once. There was a balcony level filled with more shelves and accessed by spiral staircases which flanked the huge windows. Chandeliers that would have cast glittering light on countless dancers illuminated more books than Belle had ever seen. Tables were dotted around the room, some set for study and others arranged by deep seated comfortable chairs. It was without a doubt heaven for a bibliophile.

“This is amazing! Have you read all of these?”

“Many of them, but not all. Not yet.”

Belle’s eye was drawn by an absence of books in one area; “You have empty shelves, Mr Gold.”

“There are always more books to buy.”

Belle threw her head back and laughed with delight; “Oh I agree. I have to restrict myself to only visiting the booksellers once a month and only purchasing one book.”

Mr Gold strolled towards her, and Belle found she rather liked the swagger in his step.

“I think I shall enjoy seeing you have free reign in the booksellers Mrs Gold.”

It was a charming comment, perfectly innocent and yet Belle felt that strange heaviness in the air around them again. It did not unsettle her so much this time, and she held his eye for longer before turning her head. Immediately she was distracted by the books again.

Mr Gold directed her attention by saying; “Now I do have a system, of sorts, here let me explain…”

 

In the kitchen Mrs Potts was taking advantage of the lull in activity to do a bit of knitting. It was far to soon to start on baby things for Mrs Gold, but there were always folks with babies who were glad to have some extra booties or bonnets.

Cogsworth was pacing up and down glancing at his watch every few seconds. Mrs Potts sighed; “Do sit down Mr Cogsworth, they will ring for dinner when they are ready.”

“The Master said they would take dinner at six. It is now ten minutes after that hour and they have not yet rung to change their clothes. This is most irregular Mrs Potts.”

Lumiere tutted; “Come now Mr Cogsworth. The Master is a married man now, things are bound to change.”

Cogsworth’s moustache bristled. He was not a fan of change. Change caused irregularities and led to disruption. He had grown used to Mr Gold’s little foibles over the years and had assumed that his wife would simply fit into the routine of the house with minimum disruption. The lady had only been Mrs Gold for a matter of hours and everything was running late.

A bell rang and Cogsworth sighed contently. He supposed a small alteration to the day was permissible, after all Mr Gold did not marry every day.

“Hurry and assist Mr Gold in changing, Lumiere. Miss Dunbroch is already in Mrs Gold’s rooms awaiting her.”

Lumiere shook his head and smiled; “I think you should check which bell is ringing, Mr Cogsworth.”

The rim of his pocketwatch bit into his hand as Cogsworth looked at the board and saw that the valet was correct. The bell ringing was from the dining room.

“But, Mr Gold has not changed his clothes. There must be some mistake.”

“Perhaps Mrs Gold assisted him in changing.”

Lumiere’s sly grin was wiped off his face when Mrs Potts batted him with a large wooden spoon; “I’ll not have that sort of talk in my kitchen! Now off with you there’s plenty to be done.”

 

Cogsworth found himself slightly scandalized during dinner. Not only had neither Mr or Mrs Gold changed their clothing, they had rearranged the place settings, so Mrs Gold was sitting at Mr Gold’s left side, rather than in her proper seat at the opposite end of the table. And their conversation! Of course, one did not eavesdrop, but it was impossible not to observe, and such spirited discussion was not the norm. At one point he was certain he had heard Mrs Gold disagree with Mr Gold.

After dinner the irregularities continued when instead of retiring to his study, Mr Gold accompanied Mrs Gold to the library. No doubt about it, Mrs Gold was the cause of a most distressing disarray.

 

The clocks were softly chiming eleven when Mr Gold escorted Belle to her bedroom. They had held hands all the way from the library, and Belle wasn't even trying to suppress her smile.

At her door Mr Gold kept her hand in his and hesitantly said; "I usually take breakfast at eight. Might I ask you to join me, if that suits you, Mrs Gold?"

"Breakfast at eight suits me perfectly, Mr Gold."

He gave her a soft smile and bowed over her hand. He was a perfect gentleman and did not presume to press his lips to her skin.

"I shall bid you good night Mrs Gold."

"Good night Mr Gold."

He stepped backwards and did not turn his back as she entered her room. They shared a final smile before she closed the door.

"There you are Mrs Belle. I was beginning to think that you weren't for bed at all tonight."

Belle felt like she was floating as Merida bustled about unlacing her wedding dress and preparing her for bed.

"Will the master be joining you, Ma'am?"

Merida’s tactful question reminded Belle that in the eyes of convention her marriage was not yet complete, nor would it be for a while yet. The long-engrained instinct to do her duty almost had her rising to go and find Mr Gold’s bedroom. She stomped on the feeling. The recent change in marriage customs had proven that convention was a fickle thing. Mr Gold and she had come to an agreement about the course of their marriage and how they chose to proceed was none of society’s business.

"Not tonight Merida. We have decided to get to know each other before taking that step."

In the mirror Belle saw Merida fondly shake her head; "A courtship after the wedding. This modern way is so daft."

Belle hummed an agreement. The long day was catching up on her. She let the routine of Merida helping her for bed lull her, a smile still on her lips. It had been a long and busy day for Merida as well, but apparently her curiosity was wide awake.

"So not a thunderbolt of love at first sight then?"

"No, but I believe we will come to care for each other, Mr Gold and I."

Merida snorted and gave her a sly smile, "I was certain you'd fall head over heels for him once you'd seen his rather large..."

Belle gasped at Merida, certain that she was about to say something scandalous.

"... library. Why Mrs Belle, you've gone quite red. Whatever did you think I was going to say?"

 

In his room down the hall Gold shooed Lumiere away, not wanting the man's attentive fussing to interrupt the wonderful mood he found himself in. He now knew so much more about Mrs Gold. She was beautiful and intelligent. And more than that she was willing to defend her opinion.

It had been a minor matter they had disagreed on; he had expressed the opinion that Isaac Heller was leading the way in the emerging fantasy genre, Mrs Gold had declared him a hack and suggested Gold's time would be better spend reading the works of Ms Gale and Mr Mills both whom she asserted had a more engaging style and less pompous notions.

 

Gold grinned to himself, he had asked her to hold to her own opinions. People pandered to his views and he himself had suggested he believed other than he did, but he felt there should be honesty between husband and wife. He knew that deceit and lies were only to ease to occur in a marriage, and he had no desire to emulate his father.

He'd not been prepared for the strength of Mrs Gold’s opinion nor the persuasive nature of her defence of same. Part of him was shocked and had been ready to cut her down with a snide remark as he would have anyone else who questioned him, but he could not bring himself to squash such vibrant enthusiasm. He was happy to be named beast by the world at large, but not his wife. Perhaps if she was any other woman, but Belle, as he only dared to think of her in the privacy of his own mind, Belle was something else, she was special.

He couldn't stop thinking about the jolt of pure energy that had ripped through him when she had touched his hand. It had been wonderous and thrilling. The cup he'd dropped was part of a rare old set he had acquired after much work and money, yet now that chipped cup was the most precious item in his collection. They had not looked for the chip, and even if he had found it he would not have made the repair. Others might look on it and think it was damaged and imperfect, but he would only ever see a perfect memory of the moment when his wife had first touched him. Touched his bare skin with her own, willingly and as far as he could tell purely to offer him reassurance. What a wonder his wife was; Belle was a blessing.

He knew Cogsworth was disgruntled by the changes Mrs Gold had already caused. Perverse as it maybe it had given him a measure of pleasure to see the man's feathers ruffled. He had no doubt that tomorrow would the butler would find Mrs Gold was capable of causing all manner of disruption and he found himself looking forward to it greatly.


	3. Chapter 3

My dearest Ruby,

I have been a wedded woman this past month, and I have no idea where to begin with my news.

Knowing you as well as I do, I can see the gleam in your eyes as you hope for salacious details. I must disappoint you, my dearest friend. Mr Gold and I decided that since our marriage had been blind, (you are well aware of my opinions on this new fashion), that we would wait to consummate until we know each other better. My maid has termed this a ‘courtship after the wedding’, a sweet and fitting phrase I find myself smiling at often.

What can I tell you of my husband? He is a slim man, not much taller than myself. His hair brushes his collar and he keeps clean shaven, (have you seen the brutish new fashion for men? That rough stubble that makes them look like an unkempt sailor. It's known in town as ‘roguish pirate’, their poor wives, it must be like kissing a hedgehog!)

I cannot speak as how it feels to kiss Mr Gold as our intimacy has not progressed to that stage yet, but he did kiss my hand last night and his lips felt soft and gentle.

A month before he presumed to kiss my hand! He asked my permission, Ruby, so unlike some of the puffed-up peacocks who have slobbered on our gloves at assemblies and balls! Speaking if puffed-up peacocks, I could not believe the news that Lord Nottingham's son is to wed Lady Marian. That poor woman! The memory of his leering eyes still sends shivers of revulsion down my spine, and you my dearest were forced to stand up with him for two dances. Do you think his toes have ever recovered from the repeated jab of your heels?

Mr Gold is a gentleman, not a hint of leering or slobbering. Only hours after our marriage he told me that he does not expect me to bend to his opinion. Oh Ruby, the conversations we have had! He is informed on many subjects and encourages me to engage in debate with him. Only last night I caught him out in claiming an opinion I knew to be contrary to his true stance. When I questioned him, he confessed that he enjoyed seeing me, as he put it, in a passionate defence of my subject. I chided him and said it would not do to have a husband who will lie to me for his own amusement. Those deep brown eyes of his clouded with shame, and he swore to me that he will never lie to me, but did beg permission to play devil’s advocate as long as he makes it plain that is his game since he does so like our debates.

The smile he gave me when I granted his request and claimed the same right for myself. I do believe that to an outsider our marriage would appear a most cantankerous and quarrelsome one, yet I assure you Ruby it is anything but. Mr Gold and I share so many interests and have plenty of others that are new to the other, so we never run short on conversation.

I've not yet told you the most wonderful thing about my new home. The library is huge! A ballroom Mr Gold converted to house his vast collection. So many books Ruby and on so many varied subjects! I swear I felt giddy when he first showed it to me! This is no typical library that a gentleman has had installed in his home simply because it is the done thing. Mr Gold has collected these books because they interest him. There are even empty shelves awaiting new purchases.

A week into our marriage Mr Gold took me to the local booksellers and gave me free reign to choose whatever title took my fancy. There are fewer empty shelves in our library now! My husband only stepped in to stay my hand when I had chosen a book he already owns, although he did raise his eyebrows when I selected one or two of those hair-raising bodice rippers that we all pretend to have never heard of!

I am sure you are rolling your eyes at me and fondly shaking your head over my bookish tendency. You know I would never have been happy in a home without books, nor with a husband who had no interest in reading. In Mr Gold I am fortunate, most of our evenings are spent together in the library, either lost in our own book of choice, or reading aloud to each other. He does have a lovely voice. And here I will swear you to secrecy my dearest friend; I have caught Mr Gold reading one of those bodice rippers. He hid it quickly and I will not tease him about it. Will I shock you thoroughly if I confess the idea of Mr Gold reading aloud to me from such a book is rather thrilling?

Tonight, we are to attend our first social engagement as husband and wife. I imagine that the gathering at Lady de Vil's will be the usual tedious affair, but I confess I am looking forward to my first formal appearance as Mrs Gold. How I wish you could be there, but the weather has been shocking for the time of year and it is a wise course to wait until Granny’s recovered from her injury before attempting the journey. I would ask you to tell her that she should not be engaging in horse races at her age, but I know the look that would earn me from her! I am very glad she won her wager, but she must take more care when dismounting.

I must away to get ready for this evening. I shall hold off on finishing this letter, so I can give you the gossip.

 

 

Midnight

Oh Ruby, I am distressed. This evening I have seen another side to the gentle man I thought my husband to be.

I shall try to be calm and explain the events to you, but I am so disturbed forgive me if I jump here and there.

As I mentioned earlier in this letter tonight was our first social engagement as man and wife. As I suspected there was much tedium at the gathering, you know how these things are. There was some interest by way of our recent marriage and the attendance of a gentleman new to town, Mr Killian Jones.

I thought little of him from first meeting, he is one of these fellows who has taken this trend for roguish pirate to the extreme. I swear to you Ruby he had lined his eyes with more kohl than a half dozen ladies present combined.

His manner was one of swaggering confidence and mid-way through the evening he approached me while Mr Gold was otherwise engaged. Oh, Ruby the things he suggested to me! He offered his sympathies on my marriage! Said it was such a pity that 'a pretty thing' had to marry a, I will not commit the word he used to paper suffice it to say that he, in a course manner, named Mr Gold baseborn. He then went on to offer me a dashing rescue, claiming that even if 'the beast has had you there are plenty who would overlook the matter to have you as their own'

I kept a neutral composure, but I was seething at his words. I was about to step away from him when he closed the distance between us in a most improper manner and attempted to touch my hair.

Ruby, my dearest Ruby, how I wish you were here with me now! I am shaking as I write this.

Jones did not succeed in mauling my person, because at the moment Mr Gold accosted him, forcibly dragged him away from me in fact. The rage in Mr Gold’s movement was terrifying. I could not have been the only one who thought he was about to beat Jones to within an inch of his life. None stepped forward to prevent this violence. Name me fool Ruby for I rushed forward and caught Mr Gold's arm.

The rage I saw in his eyes. I could never have dreamt that it was possible. The gentle, nay timid man, that I have discussed literature with, who speaks with such enthusiasm about antiques, who seeks permission before increasing intimacy between us, how can that man contain such raw, bestial violence?

Who have I married? Who is this man I am sworn to till the end of my days? What do I do Ruby? I am in need of your council my dearest friend. I beg you reply with haste.

Always your dearest friend

Belle


	4. Chapter 4

Cogsworth was perturbed. He would even go as far as to describe himself disgruntled, although he had always considered that a rather crass sounding word. Since Mr Gold had wed and brought Mrs Gold into the household nothing had run to schedule. Not a single thing! Dinner was frequently late, because the Master and Mistress had become distracted in the library. He still shuddered when thinking of the request that came several nights ago. Mr Gold had requested sandwiches to be served in the library rather than a sit-down meal in the dining room. The irregularity of it all!

He had hoped that Mrs Potts would stand with him in gently reminding to the Master that a meal had already been prepared. Unfortunately, Mrs Potts was apparently enjoying the spontaneity that abounded in the house now and had simple carved the roast and served it as the requested sandwiches. Laughing about honeymooners while she did it!

And it wasn’t only dinner that had been affected by Mrs Gold. Mr Gold had discarded one of his cravats, a handsome black and white checked silk, simply because Mrs Gold had declared it the most hideous thing she had ever laid eyes upon. He had untied it, there at the breakfast table, and tossed it into the fire! Cogsworth had not been able to believe the report from Lumiere, who had been called to fetch another less offensive cravat. To think of a gentleman of Mr Gold’s standing disrobing himself at breakfast!

Pictures had been moved; furniture rearranged; try as he might Cogsworth could not keep up with where trinkets were currently displayed. Mr Gold had ordered that any alterations Mrs Gold requested were to be accommodated as if he himself had issued the request.

Chaos! The whole house had become a hotbed for chaos.

Loath as he was to admit it Cogsworth would happily return to the bedlam that followed Mrs Gold’s arrival. The household was once again running to a schedule, but it was a sorrowful one. Since their early return from their engagement at Lady de Vil’s Mr and Mrs Gold had not spoken a word to each other. Mr Gold spend his days and nights shut away in his study, only emerging to sit alone at the breakfast table each morning. Mrs Gold took her meals in her rooms, and only ventured out to take a book or two from the library.

Peace and regularity reigned in the house, but it was hollow and somber.

 

After three days Cogsworth was beginning to fret. Mrs Gold had not divulged any reason for the sudden change to Merida. Mr Gold barely spoke at all. In desperation to discover the cause Cogsworth had dispatched Lumiere to Lady de Vil’s to visit with his friend Babette, who served as a maid in that household.

It was after dinner when Lumiere returned. With a despondent look on his normally jolly face he spoke a simple five words.

“Mr Killian Jones was there.”

Cogsworth groaned. Mrs Potts swore under her breath. Merida looked confused. Ashley, who was young and had only been with the household this past year said; “Oh, Mr Jones is supposed to be a very dashing fellow.”

The hard looks she received from Mr Cogsworth, Mrs Potts and Lumiere made her frown.

“Well, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Mrs Potts clucked her tongue and shook her head; “The only thing you need to know about Mr Killian Jones is that he is a scoundrel. Now, about your chores, girl. The fireplace in the library won’t lay itself.”

Ashley left the kitchen with bad grace, muttering all the way about how she was never allowed to hear the toffs gossip. Cogsworth was beginning to harbour a few doubts about the girl’s suitability to service. She displayed an insatiable desire for gossip and had no care about whom she repeated subjects too.

Merida tapped the table; “I can see there is more to tell Lumiere, so start talking.”

Lumiere poured himself a cup of tea a dropped into his seat with a sigh; “Unfortunately you are right. Jones accosted Mrs Gold while she was briefly alone. They had not been formally introduced. None of the staff were close enough to hear what he said to her, but Babette says the look of repulsion on Mrs Gold’s face was clear from across the room.”

Mrs Potts snorted; “No surprised. That scoundrel never says anything worth hearing.”

If Merida was surprised at Mrs Potts interruption, she didn’t show it. Instead she shook her head; “There must be more. Mrs Belle can hold her own against foolish comments.”

Lumiere glanced around and took a deep breath; “Jones attempted to touch Mrs Gold.”

He paused, ready for the outraged comments of his fellow staff.

“The audacity of the man!”

“The cad!”

“Cheek of him!”

Lumiere nodded his agreement and continued; “That was when Mr Gold stepped in and dragged Jones away from Mrs Gold, by throat. Babette says everyone froze, except for Mrs Gold who rushed to tell Mr Gold to stop.”

Cogsworth mopped his brow with his handkerchief; “We must be thankful she did. We don’t want a repeat of the…”

He glanced at Merida and trailed off. Merida gave him a shrewd look; “There’s a history between Mr Gold and this Jones isn’t there? A nasty one judging by the way you all react to the mention of his name. And Mr Gold must had been in a fierce mood to unsettle Mrs Belle so.”

Butler, housekeeper and valet shared a look. Lumiere shrugged. Mrs Potts gave a curt nod. Cogsworth sighed.

“Mr Gold is not a violent man. He does not raise his voice or fists to anyone, with the exception of Killian Jones. Many years ago, Jones caused the death of someone close to Mr Gold. He showed no remorse for his actions, in fact bragged about it at large. Mr Gold called him out. The resulting duel was fought with pistols. Jones missed his shot. Mr Gold’s shot caught Jones in the hand, the surgeon had to remove three fingers. Jones left for parts overseas and Mr Gold considered the matter settled. That he has returned now, and has already targeted Mrs Gold, is most troubling.”

Merida sat back in her chair and blew out a breath. In her month in this house she had never heard Mr Cogsworth speak so concisely. His words were all the more unsettling for the plain fashion of delivery. She was debating whether to tell Mrs Belle of this history when Mrs Potts patted her on the hand.

“It’s the sort of thing that would be best coming from the Master. Do you think Mrs Gold might be willing to speak with him, soon?”

A tense silence enveloped the room as Merida considered. Finally, she said; “This all makes more sense now. Mrs Belle, she’s been deceived by folks before, and I’m thinking that’s what she feels has happened here. Mr Gold’s been all manners and sweetness, then to see him in a rage would have been a shock to her. I reckon she’s done as much considering as she can in her own head.”

Merida looked at each of the hopeful faces staring at her; “I may have to give her a wee nudge, but I reckon she’ll join the Master for breakfast in the morning.”

Cogsworth and Mrs Potts sagged with relief, while Lumiere punched the air.

“I shall make sure he is well turned out, and not a checkered cravat in sight.”

The matter between husband and wife was a long way from being resolved, but for the first time in three days the staff had hope.

 

 

Gold gazed unseeing at the fire crackling in the hearth. Three days since Belle had spoken with him. No, he must think of her as Mrs Gold, he had no right to assume the intimacy of her given name, even within his own mind. He had lost any goodwill, or tender feeling she had developed towards him. All because he could not contain his temper when he saw Jones speaking to her. After all this time Jones still made his blood boil, and he had been so close to Mrs Gold.

In his moment of madness, he had fancied he could see Jones’ poison emanating from him and reaching out in sinuous tendrils towards Mrs Gold. He would not let that Jones destroy another person dear to him

He raked his hands through his hair and groaned. Once again his mind tortured him with the myriad of other ways he could have handled the encounter. If only he had maintained an aloof bearing, he could have stepped in and removed Mrs Gold from the situation calmly. If he’d been in control, he could have affected indifference at Jones’ presence and may have stood a chance of convincing the damned man that he was not worth a thought. Now Jones knew for sure that he could still provoke Gold and do so with ease.

He prayed to any wandering gods that might look kindly on his pleas, that Jones believed it was festering resentment over old wounds that had caused his violent reaction. If Jones suspected for one second that the larger root was his tender feelings towards Mrs Gold, then he would set his sights on her downfall without remorse.

There was much he should be focusing his energies on. His business dealing need attention, and he needed to discover why Jones was back from overseas and what he was planning and with whom. He had the motivation for none of it, all he desired was for Mrs Gold to speak with him.

Each morning he bathed and dressed hoping that she would join him for breakfast. From the moment they had returned from Lady de Vil’s he had wanted to beg her forgiveness, but her manner in the carriage had been one of fear and revulsion towards his person. He resolved not to force his company upon her. He could march up to her room, bang on the door and demand entrance, demand that she hear him out. The idea made him feel sick to his stomach. He never wanted to see that look of terror in her eyes, knowing that he had been the cause of it, ever again.

So, he waited, and hoped that once she felt ready, she would speak with him. The very first thing he was going to do was offer his deepest apology for terrorizing her. If she was willing to listen further, he would lay his whole sorry history with Jones out for her, every damning detail. Beyond that he had no idea how their conversation would progress. Would Mrs Gold forgive him? Would she wish to leave him? It was possible, their marriage was not consummated, it could be dissolved. In preparation for his wedding he had looked into how such an annulment could be achieved. He could make it happen with no detriment to Mrs Gold’s character or social standing. The thought of doing so made him want to weep, but he would grant it to her without complaint if doing so would made her happy.

Gods above how he missed the sight of her happiness. With a simple smile Mrs Gold could light up a room, she had brought joy to the cold barren waste of his soul. And now, thorough his beastly and base temper he had lost that light and was in bleak darkness once more.

His eyes fell upon his pocket watch. He lifted it with care from the side table where he had placed it when his discarded his waistcoat. His thumb stroked around the dent in the case and a sad smile tugged at his lips. The catch gave easily under the pressure of his fingers, and the lid opened to reveal a face, long lost, but never forgotten.

“I will not let Belle fall foul of Jones. I will not fail her as I did you. I swear to you Balefire.”


	5. Chapter 5

Belle looked at her wardrobe and decided on the blue gown. For the past three days her mind had been churning, but she had now reached a decision. She was a married woman and she could not spend the rest of her days hiding from her husband. This morning she would breakfast with Mr Gold and they would discuss the events of Lady de Vil’s ball.

Laid out like that her plan was such a simple one, but there were so many variables that she could not predict how such a frank conversation would resolve. As Merida helped her dress there were three words echoing in Belle’s mind; bait and switch. The phrase was one that a fine lady should never learn, and yet Belle had personal experience of the confidence trick, and the devastating after effects.

Count Gaston had worn the face of a sweet and caring man when he had come into her life not long before her mother’s death. For a time, all expected that he would speak with her father and request her hand in marriage. He had listened to her fears and worries for her mother’s failing health. At time when her father had become distant under the weight of his own sorrow the attention of Count Gaston had been of invaluable support to her. He had encouraged her interests, at least she had thought he had. In hindsight many of their conversations had ended revolving around the Count, but she had not noticed the shift at the time. When a series of poor investments caused father’s fortunes to wane not long after mother’s death Belle very quickly saw the other side of the Count.

“Which hairpins would you like today Mrs Belle?”

Belle caught Merida’s eyes in the mirror and exchanged a smile with her; “Mother’s pearl ones, thank you Merida.”

Merida had been a godsend during those terrible days. On hearing rumours of father’s change in fortune the Count had become sullen and short-tempered. The final straw had come one day when Belle returned from a ride. The Count was waiting for her in the stables and Belle still shuddered to recall the anger in his eyes. Furious that father could not offer a decent dowry for her marriage the Count had raised his hand to her. The blow he could have landed would likely have knocked her senseless, but for the timely application of a shovel to the back of his head by Merida.

Belle had been terrified, it was not the threat of violence that had shook her to her core, but seeing the mask slip from the Count’s face to reveal the true monster beneath. That she had been so mistaken in the Count’s character caused her to doubt herself. Similar feelings had wracked her after Mr Gold’s outburst at the ball. Doubt and fear had been her immediate companions that night. Over these past three days she had reconsidered every conversation, every interaction, with Mr Gold, and yet she could fathom no ulterior motive for him to have been anything other than himself with her.

“Mrs Belle?”

Merida’s quiet voice pulled Belle from her recollections. There was only one way to understand Mr Gold and that was to speak with him. Merida had dressed her, and she was as ready to face the fire as she would ever be.

“I will breakfast downstairs today, Merida.”

Merida smiled in encouragement; “Very good Mrs Belle.”

 

Merida watched as Mrs Belle squared her shoulders and lift her hand to touch her hairpins. The pearl set had been Lady Colette’s, and Mrs Belle only wore them when she felt the need to draw on the strength of her mother. As soon as Mrs Belle had left the room Merida darted down the back stairs, she wanted to let the rest of the staff know that the much hoped for conversation between wife and husband was about to happen. Once Mrs Potts knew what was going one Merida had some very important dusting to do in the hall outside the breakfast room.

 

Lumiere had been rather jovial this morning as he fussed to ensure Gold was looking his best. Gold suspected that it was an attempt to raise his spirits and lift him from the funk he’d wallowed in these three days, but when Lumiere suggested that he wear the sapphire blue cravat that Mrs Gold favoured he found himself hoping. He dared not to ask Lumiere for confirmation of his hopes, but he walked into the breakfast room with his head held high and his heart thumping in his chest. Mrs Gold was not there, but there were still several minutes until eight o’clock. He took his seat and waited. Optimism was not his natural state, and the flicker of it in his chest was unusual, but he found not unwelcome.

 

Belle paused at the foot of the stairs and collected her thoughts. Mr Gold was not the Count. She needed to give him a fair chance to explain himself before she judged him. She walked into the breakfast room with a confidence she did not entirely feel.

Mr Gold leapt from his chair as if he had been burned, it was puck luck she thought that he managed to catch the back of his chair before it toppled over. Once he had righted the chair he gave her a stiff bow; “Good morning Mrs Gold.”

He stood stiff and awkward, his fingers rubbing across his thumb as he watched her walk to the sideboard, and then asked; “How, how have you been Mrs Gold?”

Considering the current tension between them she chose to let that question go unanswered, from the corner of her eye she saw Mr Gold thump his fist against his forehead. Prior to the ball she would have laughed at that, but now she wasn’t sure how to react. Once she had poured herself a cup of tea she turned towards the table and saw that it was laid with three place settings; as usual Mr Gold’s at the head of the table; the one to his left where she had habitually sat; and also the more traditional place for the lady of the house at the opposite end to Mr Gold.

“Are we expecting a guest?”

He shuffled a little on his feet; “I was not certain that you would appreciate our former familiarity, so I instructed the staff to give you options.”

His consideration for her comfort was in keeping with the man she had come to know over the past month of their marriage. She almost took her usual seat at his left, but then decided that the nature of the conversation they must have required more space.

He remained standing until she was seated; “Would you prefer to summon your maid to chaperone?”

Belle suspected that Merida would have found herself a task that placed her within shouting distance of the breakfast room. She would never accuse her maid of eavesdropping, but she would certainly be close enough to hear if their voices raised beyond a normal conversational level. It had become their custom to breakfast alone, and as wary as she was of a reappearance of Mr Gold’s temper Belle decided that their custom should stand. She declined his offer and he acknowledge her with a nod of his head. Mr Gold finally took his seat and began toying with his tea cup but did not speak. If they were to move beyond their current difficulties Belle would have to make the first move.

“I would like to thank you for intervening with Mr Jones.”

Gold gave her a hopeful half smile, but Belle raised a hand to halt him from replying before she had finished; “However there were many less violent methods you could have employed. I would like you to explain to me why that violence was your first response.”

Mr Gold studied her face for a long moment; “I scared you.”

It wasn’t a question, and he must had suspected the truth by the way in which he had ensured she could keep a distance between them and offered her a chaperone. He knew what her reaction to his anger had been, he was simply seeking confirmation.

“Yes, you did Mr Gold.”

Mr Gold swallowed deeply; “Then first may I offer my deepest apologies. I take our marriage vows seriously, you should never know a moment of fear because of my actions.

The sincerity and regret were thick in his words. The soft trusting part of Belle wanted to instantly grant him forgiveness so they could put this matter behind them. The sceptical and slightly cynical part of her reminded her that pretty words were easy. She needed more from him.

“I want to accept your apology Mr Gold, but before I do, I need to understand why you reacted so violently.”

She hoped her words would encourage him to explain, but she had not expected him to lift his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat. She bristled at the thought that he had an appointment that was more important than the sorry state of their marriage. He unhooked the chain and held the watch out to her.

“May I?”

At her nod he slowly walked towards her and placed the open watch by her elbow. He walked backwards just as slowly as he had approached and took his seat once more.

“If you would take a look Mrs Gold.”

She frowned slightly wondering why he would want her to see the time. When she picked up the watch, she found that it was the back door that was opened. Curious she looked inside the case and found a portrait.

“Who is this young man?”

“His name was Baelfire.”

Belle’s fingers tightened on the metal case. She once again cursed this ridiculous fad for blind marriages. Was she now expected to acknowledge her husband’s son? A secret son, at that?

“Your son?”

Mr Gold shook his head; “No, no Mrs gold. Baelfire was no blood of mine, yet I cared for him as a father, as a good father would care for a son.”

His use of the past tense screamed at her. She waited, the familiar tension of a sad story to be told hung in the air between them. Belle was reminded of the occasion when her mother had told her of the illness that was already eating away at her. She had the uncomfortable feeling that Mr Gold’s story would have a similar unhappy ending.

Mr Gold took a deep breath; “I first met Baelfire when he attempted to pick my pocket.”

Belle’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“I caught him at it, even though he was very good, light-fingered little beggar was skilled at his trade. But I confess that I have some experience with performing the old dippity-do-dah myself.”

That statement was going to require closer questioning, but for now Belle kept her questions to herself.

“I grabbed his hand, but he struggled, and my watch dropped to the ground, hence the dent in the case.”

Belle ran her finger over the dent in the metal. She had wondered why Mr Gold, a man meticulous in his appearance, would carry a dented watch. She’d not found the moment to ask, and now she didn’t have too.

Mr Gold smiled fondly, his eyes hazy with memory; “He was a firecracker, bold and brave. Used language that I shall not repeat and dared me to call the law.”

“I suspect you declined?”

“Oh yes, indeed I did Mrs Gold. I saw something in Baelfire that I wanted to protect. Something of myself in him one could say.”

The coarse accusation of Mr Jones that her husband was baseborn surfaced in her mind. Similarities in birth were not the only reason that Mr Gold might feel compassion for a street urchin. She shook Mr Jones’ words away and focused on her husband and his story.

“It took little persuasion to encourage Baelfire to come home with me. The promise of a good meal was far too tempting for him. He told me straight to my face that I was daft and he wold rob me blind. I told him that was his choice and that I would let him take what he could if that was the route he decided on. First time I saw surprise on his wee face.

“I found him that night in my study, his pockets filled with whatever he’d be able to sell. I told him he could go, but if he wanted something other than a life of uncertainty on the street then he could stay, and I would find him work and he’d have three square meals a day of a better quality then he would get in the nick.”

Mr Gold paused to take a sip of tea and his nose crinkled. Belle recognized that look, Mr Gold’s tea had gone cold. She rose from her seat and gestured towards his cup; “Would you like me to pour you a fresh one?”

When she had stood, he had half left his seat. Caught between manners which dictated he should stand when a lady did, and the easy intimacy of a husband whose wife was waiting on him, he dithered half-standing in a way that brought a small smile to Belle’s lips. He nervously sat down and nodded; “If you would be so kind, Mrs Gold.”

He appeared tense as she approached, almost certainly a shiver passed over him as she took the cup from the table. The distance between them was closer than they had been since the ball. Belle noticed a tremble in her own hand and quickly turned towards the sideboard in order to conceal her reaction. The soothing rhythm of pouring tea calmed her enough that once she had added the sugar and milk Mr Gold preferred her hands were steady again.

As she turned back to the table, she found Mr Gold watching her. In his features she saw the gentle man she had come to know in the month since their wedding. In that moment she realised that he looked at her as if she hung the moon. The heady sensation that he likely returned the affection she had begun to feel for him caused her hands to tremble once more, but she managed to set his cup on the table without spilling the tea.

“Thank you Be, erm, herm, erm, thank you Mrs Gold.”

A blush rose to his cheeks at his near slip of using her given name, an intimacy she had not yet granted him. As she returned to her seat she wondered if he referred to her as Belle in his mind. She had no idea what to call him other than Mr Gold. His reaction to his given name during their wedding suggested that he would not welcome it if she were to call him Barbara, but her husband must have friends who called him something other than Mr Gold. As she pondered what he would accept as a name from his intimate circle, Belle smoothed her skirts and then asked; “So, Baelfire stayed with you?”

Mr Gold blew on his steaming cup of tea and took a small slip before smiling at her in thanks, and then saying; “Yes, yes he did. He was worried about that decision, and when I asked him why, that was the first time I heard the name Killian Jones.”

A dark cloud passed over Mr Gold’s features at the mention of the man. Belle held herself still. The fear she had felt at the ball was trying to rise in her again, but she refused to be engulfed by it again.

From her seat at the other end of the table Belle could see Mr Gold’s knuckles were white from the grip he had on the fine porcelain. She saw his hands shake as he returned the cup to the saucer.

“Baelfire wanted to stay with me, his exact words were ‘If you can help me get outta the gutter then I’ll stick around, but Jones ain’t gonna like losing his best pick-pocket.’ I must ask Mrs Gold; how much do you know of the workings of thieves?”

Belle blinked, she had not been expecting that question; “As you know Mr Gold, I read the broadsheets and tabloids more than a woman of my station is expected to, but I can not claim any personal knowledge of the inner workings of such people.”

She wanted to kick herself for the pompous tone of her words, was it possible she could sound anymore superior? Mr Gold took no exception to her words, he simply gave a brief nod and continued with his story.

“Baelfire was one of a circle of pickpockets, thieves and, erm,” – Mr Gold cleared his throat and shot Belle an anxious look, -“erm prostitutes that Jones ran. Jones was at this point advancing in society off the backs of those in bondage to him like Bae, and by employing blackmail in order to claim a naval career.”

Mr Gold made to stand but paused and dropped back into his chair; “Mrs Gold, this portion of my history makes me restless. With your permission I will stand and pace. I will remain at this end of the room and make no advances into your space. Again, if you wish to summon your maid, or the entire household staff to ensure your safety and comfort I shall not move from this chair until you have done so.”

His focus was so intense on her that she suspected that he didn’t hear the not so subtle cough from the hallway. Belle recognized it as Merida, less than four steps away if her guess was right. She would not have to raise her voice should she want another by her side, and yet this moment, this first difficulty in their marriage, she wanted to keep between the two of them.

“By my leave, pace the room as you will Mr Gold.”

If Belle had not been focused on him, she would have missed the way his eyes darted towards the door. He knew how close aid was for her and that gave her confidence. He gave her a bow and slowly rose from his seat. He traversed the width of the room behind his chair four times before he stopped to the right of the seat and stared at the wall. Belle had been hoping to change the wallpaper in this room as she found the black and silver flourishes to be too austere for her taste.

After a long moment Mr Gold said; “Jones waited six months before he approached me to demand payment for Bae. He claimed that I needed to satisfy a contract he had on the boy. I refused to give him a single copper.”

He turned very slowly to face her but would not meet her eyes, his collar length hair obscured his face from her view; “I should have paid him what he wanted, and double that, triple it, because then Bae would be alive.”

He raised his head and Belle gasped at the sight of tears running down his cheeks.

“And if I had paid him and paid him every day since then you would not be in danger, my dear sweet Belle.”


End file.
